he was not dead yet,
but no earthly power could save her. She lay white and motionless on the
high trestle bed, unconscious of his presence. They had sent a messenger
for him, and he had come. The door was locked. Stefanone and his wife
whispered together on the landing. In the third room, beyond, the nurse
was shedding hysterical tears over the sleeping child.

The strong man stood stone still with shadowy, unblinking eyes, gazing
into the dying face. Not a muscle moved, not a feature was distorted,
his breath was regular and slow, for his grief had taken hold upon his
soul, and his body was unconscious of time, as though it were already
dead.

She had suffered horrible agonies for two nights and one day, and now
the end was very near, for the wracked nerves could no longer feel. She
lay on her back, lightly covered, one white arm and hand above the
coverlet, the other hidden beneath it.

The room was very hot, and the sun streamed through the narrow aperture
of the nearly closed shutters, and made a bright streak on the red
bricks, for it was morning still.

The purple lids opened, and Gloria looked up. There was no shiver now,
as she recognized the man she feared, for the nerves were almost dead.
Perhaps there was less fear, for she knew that it was almost over. The
dark eyes were fixed on his with a mysterious, wondering look.

He tried to speak, and his lips moved, but he could make no sound, and
his chest heaved convulsively, once. He knew what she had done, for they
had told him. He knew, now that he tried to speak and could not, that he
was half killed by grief. She saw the effort and understood, and faintly
smiled.

"Why?"

He wrenched the single broken word out of himself by an enormous effort,
and his throat swelled and was dry. Suddenly a single great drop of
sweat rolled down his pale forehead.

"I could not live," she answered, in a cool, far voice beyond suffering,
and still she smiled.

"Why? Why?"

The repeated word broke out twice like two sobs, but not a feature
moved. The dying woman's eyelids quivered.

"I was a burden to you," she said faintly and distinctly. "You are free
now, you have--only the child."

His calm broke.

"Gloria, Gloria! In the name of God Almighty, do not leave me so!"

He clasped her in his arms and lifted her a little, pressing his lips to
her face. She was inert as a statue. She feared him still, and she felt
the shiver of horror at his touch, but it could n